


Strip Your Sleeve and Show Your Scars

by starfleetdicks



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Light Angst, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfleetdicks/pseuds/starfleetdicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin does not usually undress completely before Arthur, bathe with him, linger after sex, nothing. Arthur craves nothing more than to touch Merlin and explore every inch of his skin but Merlin doesn't let him. At least, not until one night, when he lets Arthur strip him and falls asleep without fuss after they make love and Arthur counts it both as a blessing and as a curse. It shouldn't hurt to get the things you want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strip Your Sleeve and Show Your Scars

It’s rare, Merlin with all his barriers down. 

Arthur’s fairly sure it must be thing. Gaius must see this Merlin, well not this one (naked and still flushed pink from sex) but a relaxed, content Merlin. Arthur isn’t sure he’s ever seen his manservant like this. Even after Arthur started courting him and then took him to bed, Merlin was always quick to dress, quick to run away. He never allowed himself to linger too long, citing chores and errands (quite the list if Arthur tried to argue).

Arthur’s not sure why today is different, why Merlin didn’t skitter away at his insistent hands tugging that silly neckerchief away and then his tunic and his pants and his oversized boots. Or why he allowed himself to fall asleep once sated but Arthur learned as a child, you don’t complain when you get your way.

He’s careful not to wake the sated, sleeping man in his bed. When he sits up, he tries not to let the mattress dip. It feels like he’s on the hunt, cornering a deer. One false move and it’ll go flitting away. Arthur wants to trap this Merlin in his bed forever. This Merlin that seems to trust him for once, feels secure enough to fall asleep with those delicate and long lashes brushing his cheeks, his mouth slightly parted, his legs still spread in unintentional invitation.

Arthur wants to brand the notion that he can protect Merlin, especially like this, when Merlin finally lets go of all the weight of responsibility he feels if only for a moment. He wants to brand it onto his manservant’s skin, next to his heart, beside the crest of the Pendragons Arthur also wants on him. 

He settles instead for running his fingers gently along Merlin’s biceps, still mostly undefined but getting there. They need more practice with swordplay, he thinks, but Merlin is filling out nicely. Arthur finds the idea of a Merlin strong enough to pin him down arousing beyond belief. He shifts again, trying to relieve the slight hardness he can feel beginning. He tries to cast it from his mind. His purpose is not another bout of sex with a sleepy Merlin. There are things of more importance, the mapping of pale skin he’s blessed to be seeing, worshipping.

Arthur’s fingers seek out old, mostly healed burn scars scattered along Merlin’s arms. The skin is only slightly darker than the rest of Merlin; it’s a slight dappling of color, like the coat of the mare in the stables Arthur feeds sugar cubes when no one is looking. They are from the dragon attacks, Arthur has no doubt. Not that the scars radiate the mystical, magical tell-tale of dragon burns, but Arthur knows it instinctively as he knows most things. It’s a deep anger, coiling in his core that tells him he is not wrong.

It’s not the dragon’s fault though. It’s Arthur’s. He should have been able to protect Merlin. Maybe that’s why his manservant has so little trust in him, in Arthur’s abilities. Thin, scattered scars beyond the burns on Merlin’s sword arm (and shield arm during trainings) remind him how often he hurts Merlin, even if it’s out of necessity, and does he blame the man for being so guarded?

There are scars on Merlin’s chest and Arthur knows these too. In the Valley of the Fallen Kings, bandits attacked them and Arthur still vividly remembers the strike, how it hit Merlin squarely and made Arthur’s blood run cold. He leans forward, kissing it gently and stills for the next few heartbeats with Merlin stirs beside and beneath him. His manservant turns away to his side first and then rolls onto his front, clutching at his chest as if protecting himself. Arthur closes his eyes against the onslaught of his traitorous mind and what it means that even in his sleep Merlin does not feel safe, that Arthur’s kisses are threats themselves.

When his heart has stilled its aching, he slowly touches the long scars riding Merlin’s back, over his shoulder and lower. Arthur isn’t sure about this one, tries to cast his mind back to a battle where Merlin might have gotten these. His fingers have run the course of them ten times before the memory strikes him, drives the breath from him in a small gasp, and makes him stare at Merlin with all the sadness Arthur has ever felt. These, he is certain now too, are from the dorocha he and Merlin faced. Another instance, he reminds himself, where Merlin protected him.

Another moment where Merlin was almost lost to him.

Arthur doesn’t blame Merlin for covering these scars now, for being hesitant with his body. Arthur is not sure he can survive these scars, which dig fresh wounds across his heart and teach him of his weaknesses with sure, unrelenting strokes.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” he whispers into the dip of his lower back, rubbing his lips along the bumps of his spine there, relishing in the soft shiver that runs through Merlin’s form. He allows himself one small moment, rubbing his hands up Merlin’s thighs and sides, kissing him quickly before pulling away.

It’s early, the sun still not peeking out, and Merlin would no doubt be surprised and pleased if he were awake. Arthur heads out to his kingly duties without fuss today. He will go to training as well, practice twice as hard as normal, fight against as many knights as he can.

He will train, without pause, until he is strong enough to protect this kingdom, its people, with his own hands, and until he is worthy of Merlin’s trust and love.

(Until the scars fade from Merlin’s skin, until none take their place again, until Arthur dies.)


End file.
